


The Twelve Days of Christmas

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson's beard of sorrow, Cute, Cute Ending, Cute overload, Cutesy, Dealing With Loss, Drink Spiking, Drinking, F/M, Fluffy Ending, Humor, Hunter is obnoxious, Joey being adorable, Kissing, Letters, Love Letters, Mack knowing everything already, Metaphors, Romance, Sappy, Simmons being the least suspecting, Simmons foisting healthy treats on people, Singing, fluffy Mcflufferston, hand holding, information about birds you never thought you needed to know!, mentions of Daisy/Lincoln relationship, relationship patterns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 20:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5553608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little twist on the Christmas carol Skoulson style.  Told from Simmons POV.  Cute overload.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Twelve Days of Christmas

Prologue.

 

It’s nearing Christmas, and the team is all stuck on base this year.  For various reasons, known and unknown.

Simmons has rallied them, corralling them all into the lounge to sit down and try her healthy hot cocoa recipe, which she swears to them she has perfected.

With just a hint of peppermint.

She sees Coulson narrow his eyes at this announcement, and ignores his gaze as they file in and Simmons hands them each a mug in turn, watching them sip it quietly.

“What makes this healthy?” Joey asks, before he drinks it.

“It only has five ingredients,” Simmons says cheerfully.  “No preservatives or corn syrup, or any of that stuff to rot your insides.”

“It’s pretty good,” he says honestly, after taking a sip and gives her a broad smile.

“Thank you!” she answers brightly.  At least someone has some holiday spirit.

Mack has brought the record player down from the office, and plugs it in while they're all sitting in the lounge drinking.

Simmons rises to put on the album and ignores the groan from May as the first notes begin to play.

Traditional English Christmas songs she had sent from home, her family’s favorites (it’s her father’s album, really) and she looks around the room, knowing that something is missing.

“Where’s Hunter?”

“Right here,” he appears, an elf hat on his head, holding a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a case of Guinness in the other. “I come bearing gifts.”

Simmons rolls her eyes and plants herself on the couch then tips her head towards where the cocoa and mugs are.

“Just the thing for hot chocolate,” he says, setting it all down on the counter. “Booze.”

Poor Simmons has to bear them filing in a line towards Hunter stealing the show.  But she can’t be too hard on them. 

At least they’re all here together.

Strangely all the Brits end up sitting on one side singing along cheerfully, as the rest watch them and drink in silence, or have quiet conversations among themselves.

When Hunter begins singing a little louder than the rest, Mack rubs his hand across his face and looks over at Bobbi.  
  
“The music was your idea,” she shrugs, adding another homemade marshmallow to her mug.

There’s a brief lull between songs and Lincoln gets up to set his mug in the sink and Daisy does as well, telling them all a polite goodnight.  
  
Simmons gives her a hug, and they both leave the room as Hunter stands up on the couch to bellow in his lowest baritone the last few words of _I Saw Three Ships_ as they leave.  
  
She turns back and sees Coulson refilling his mug and then adding some whiskey.  May taps the side of hers and he pours into her cup.  
  
They take the vacated seats and Hunter grabs Fitz up beside him to start in on _Deck The Halls_ , with him giving a tortured expression, but then going along with it.

She sighs, and goes to refill her mug when she feels someone standing beside her and turns her head up to see Daisy there.

“Oh.  You came back!”

“Yeah,” Daisy answers.  “Thanks for doing all of this.”

“’Course,” she replies, not wanting to pry about Lincoln and spoil the mood. “Would you like some more hot cocoa?”

“Um, sure,” Daisy says with a little smile, picking her mug up out of the sink and letting her pour.

“A little cheer?” Simmons asks, picking up the whiskey bottle.  “I think I might need it.”

They both turn towards Hunter and Fitz taking turns reciting _The Twelve Days of Christmas_ , a little off-time to the album.

“Definitely,” Daisy says, holding out her mug.  “This song reminds me of when I was a kid.  We had to sing it every year.”

“In St. Agnes?” Simmons asks, watching her visibly sigh.

Daisy nods and then leans against the counter, narrowing her eyes.  “Who gives their ‘true love’ a partridge in a pear tree, anyway?”

“The red-legged partridge was known to sit in pear trees,” Simmons tells her. “Of course, it’s French, not English.  They propagate rather rapidly.  So.”

Daisy starts to laugh, then takes a quick drink of her cocoa.  “Wow, you just fixed a piece of my childhood.”

“Here’s to partridges,” May says, pouring herself some cocoa, suddenly standing next to them.

“Yeah?  What about three French hens?”

They look up and see Coulson eyeing them, then he holds his mug out to May, and she fills his cup halfway.

“In the 18th Century French hens were crossbred with hens imported from the East,” Simmons replies. “In doing so they created a new breed from two different genetic lines.”

Coulson takes the bottle of whiskey and adds some to his cup, then shakes an open Guinness can and throws it away, pops open another and adds it to his mug.

“I’m not going to ask about the turtledoves,” he mentions. “Because it’s obvious where you’re going with this.”

“Guinness too, huh?” Daisy asks, looking at him sip his mug.

“Mmm,” he says, nodding at her.  “Crossbreeding.  Irish beer, American whiskey, Aztec cocoa?”

Simmons sees Daisy stare a little too long at his cheeky expression, and then sets her mug down and lifts the can of Guinness.  “Shall we investigate for ourselves?”

She pours some into her and Daisy’s mugs and they take a drink and then laugh, just as Fitz and Hunter yell out “ _Five Golden Riiiiinggggsss!_ ”

“The Olympics, right?” Mack says, holding out his cup.  “Maybe they saw into the future?” he adds conspiratorially.

“Let me make you one,” Simmons says with a huff, taking his mug from him.

“If someone gave me a partridge in a pear tree,” Bobby says. “I’d invite them over for a nice dinner.”

“Of a partridge in a pear tree,” May sings along with the guys as they finally end their aural assault.

“You should sing more often,” Daisy teases her, earning her a raised eyebrow.

“Not really,” Coulson says, as May elbows him. “Trust me. Ouch.”

“ _No_ partridges for dinner,” Simmons says above their conversation. “It's just that there's always a rational explanation for these things.  It's like an extravagant present to their lover.”

“So this song was written by an 18th century biologist?” Joey asks, looking around. “In love?”

“What do nine drummers drumming have to do with biology, hmm?” Mack asks looking over at Joey and sipping.  “Sounds like a headache.”

“Oh, I give up,” Simmons says.

  


Day 1.                                

She wakes up the next day with a bit of a headache, but no worse for the wear.  After she gets ready and puts on a cheerful plaid sweater, she heads towards the lounge to get her morning cup of tea.

As she goes to open the cabinet she remembers that they used all the mugs last night and opens the dishwasher to take a clean one out.

Pouring in the hot water to warm her cup she notices a note taped above the coffee machine, like a notice printed out.

Leaning forward, she reads it.

 

> Darling:
> 
> I discovered a package on my front step today.  A partridge in a pear tree. I was rather surprised, until I scanned it and realized you put a homing chip in the partridge.  You know I’m SHIELD, right?  Care to join me for dinner?  We may or may not be having roasted partridge.
> 
> With deepest affection,
> 
> Your Dearest

 “Oh, too funny,” she says, walking to toss the water out of her warm cup.

 

Day 2.

When she finds it again, she wonders at who is bothering with this.  Of course, they could all be in it together, or just one of them being silly.  They’re all quite silly.  Most of them.

At least they have the holiday spirit, even though it seems very sarcastic about it all?

But can they go an entire twelve days, that’s the real question.

This one is written in the reverse, though.

 

> Dearest:
> 
> I hadn’t expected you to respond so quickly.  But of course, you’re very clever, being SHIELD and all! I’m sorry I couldn’t make dinner, but I’m sure you can guess my surprise at having two turtle doves in my possession!  They’re lovely, and no trackers this time.  Is this a hint to send you a coded message?  Not a lot of experience with this sort of thing.
> 
> With all my love,
> 
> Your Darling

At least it’s something to look forward to?  The ninnies. 

 

Day 3.

She saw May writing something down on the table in the lounge the night before and sort of laughing to herself, which never means anything good. 

Of course it’s the holiday and they’re stuck here, so the pranking will probably scale up. 

It could be anyone, really.  But probably not Fitz.  He’s a little thick when it comes to humor. 

Not that there are any real details, or even a real conversation between lovers.  It’s just a bit of fun and it doesn’t matter how it ends.

 

> Darling:
> 
> Oh!  I really don’t deserve the generosity of three French hens. Wherever should I keep them since their eyes are glowing?  Would you like me to send them to the lab for a test or does this mean something more?  Like an 18th Century French crossbreeding analogy?  I’m intrigued.
> 
> Love,
> 
> Dearest

Having a bit of fun with her, then.  Maybe she’ll write a reply of her own?

 

Day 4.

After coming back from the gym, she notices that the note is added later in the day.  Why would that be?  Something must have thrown the guilty party off their schedule.

Approaching the coffee machine, she peers at the note.

 

> Dearest:
> 
> I now have four calling birds, thank you. Where should I put them all?  This is a lot of reciprocity with birds, I realize.  Please.  No more birds.  Thanks.  Bye.
> 
> Affectionately,
> 
> Darling
> 
> P.S. - Maybe just a few words in person? Anything but birds.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Lincoln with a bag over his shoulder as he walks down the hall towards the hangar, as Daisy follows after, talking to him in low tones.

Oh, bother.  The holidays are hard enough as it is already.  No need to stir up emotions more.

Holidays.  Like funerals and weddings.

She misses her family.  She misses Will.

 

Day 5.

 

> My Darling:
> 
> Five Golden Rings.  One for each finger, I suppose?  Or is there another meaning?  Are you suggesting something about the Olympics?   Or, that I should be cool enough to know what to do with five golden rings?  At least they’re quiet, though.  Birds?  Not so quiet.
> 
> Your adoring,
> 
> Dearest

That one sounds like Agent Coulson.  For sure, she thinks, rereading it as she sips her tea.  A possible speech pattern match for certain.

But the Olympics thing was Mack.  Maybe they are conspiring?

The whole Agent Coulson thing is very weird.  It’s like he’s forgotten to shave, too.

Poor man.  And awful Ward for making him have to do it.

 

Day 6.

The newest one sounds a bit testy, of course, that’s the whole point of this silly game they're playing with the back-and-forth.

Daisy has been coming and going a lot and it’s causing some tension.  Presumably she’s meeting with Inhumans, which means Lincoln.

Hunter comes up beside her and reads the whole thing out loud.

 

> Dear Dearest,
> 
> Six geese a-laying kind of cuts into my schedule, as you might imagine?  We’re back to doing birds again?  Geese are also not small _or_ compliant as far as birds go.  I’m also pretty sure that that amount of bird poop is going to be a biohazard to someone who knows all about biology.  I won’t name who.
> 
> Please, NO MORE BIRDS!
> 
> Cordially,
> 
> Darling

“No more birds is right,” he says, slurping at his cup of coffee.

She just rolls her eyes and walks away.

 

Day 7.

She is pretty sure that it’s Hunter and Bobbi. Yes, they’ve been fighting again and now Hunter being so loud and obnoxious (and drunk) recently all makes sense.

Why do people have to cause so much drama around the holidays?

She reads the note to herself as Bobbi comes up beside her looking very exhausted and pours herself some coffee.

 

> Darling:
> 
> I’m glad we’re on the same page again.  Seven swans a-swimming DOES NOT WORK.  First of all, SHIELD doesn’t have a pond and I can’t expect the team to volunteer their bathtubs just for our very elaborate demonstration of devotion to one another.
> 
> They’re also very aggressive, which was probably on purpose because, yeah, geese aren’t nice, either, which means I’m sorry?  Can we work this out before HYDRA discovers where our base is from all the squawking?
> 
> STOP SENDING BIRDS.  Agreed.
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> Dearest

“This is supposed to be cute, right?” Bobbi says flatly.

“It’s funny,” Simmons says. “I imagine it will only get worse if we’re getting all the way to twelve.”

“Someone’s been burying their funny bone all this time,” she goes on narrowing her eyes. “Not Mack.  Not his style.”

Bobbi is a very good profiler, now that she’s thinking on it. 

Probably her.  Probably trying to just throw her off the scent.

 

Day 8.

 

> Dearest:
> 
> Eight maids a-milking is really just perfect to take all that milking off my hands.  Oh, wait.  I’m a secret agent, not a dairy farmer. And where do I put the cows?  We don’t have a yard. Or grass.  It’s a problem.  We should’ve thought about some of this before we even got started.
> 
> Time to take a break? 
> 
> Darling

Of course they were going to peter out eventually. 

But now she’s kind of sad.  She doesn’t want them to give up with their stupid love affair.

If they don’t follow through she’s going to feel cheated.  And this is depressing to end it like this just before Christmas.

Rude.

“I want them to have a happy ending,” she says out loud, taking a sip of her tea.

“Who?” Coulson asks, gruffly, taking up the coffee pot.

“The lovers in these notes.  Even if it is just a bit of fun, they’d better not give up now.”

“Really?” he asks, shaking his head at her, concentrating on holding the mug with the new prosthetic Fitz made him.

“Your face,” she says, suddenly noticing.

“What about it?” he asks testily.

“It met with a razor.”

 

Day 9.

“Yes!” she hears Joey talking to himself in front of the coffee machine.

“What is it?” Simmons asks him, picking up a mug and running hot water into it.

“I thought Dearest might give up,” he says animatedly.  “But then this was here when I came in just now.”

Simmons reads the note.

 

> Oh Darling:
> 
> Thank you for the hint.  Nine ladies dancing, huh?  All very nice, and yet not one of them is like you.
> 
> Dearest

“Awww,” she says. “That’s so romantic.  Delightful.”

“This is great!” Joey says, smiling, rubbing his hands together. “It’s like my holiday telenovela.”

“Not like that,” Simmons frowns.  “Those don’t end well, do they?”

“Sure,” he nods. “After some brushes with near-death and long-lost relatives suddenly turning up.  There’s always a wedding.”

"Oh, good. Ours tend to be a little grim.”

 

Day 10.

 

> Dearest:
> 
> Very funny.  Ten lords a-leaping? I’m sure this is meant to be humorous, but leaping guys do nothing for me.  I need someone who can sit still for awhile and not run. Or hide.
> 
> It gets exhausting.  Like being on a merry go round, you end up back at the same place?
> 
> Darling

Mack chuckles to himself as he drinks his first cup of coffee, looking at the note.

Simmons narrows her eyes at him for a moment.

“You know who this is?” she asks.

“You don’t?” he replies with a shrug.

“Have you seen Coulson?” May asks, opening the cabinet and getting out a green tea bag.

“Not right this second,” Mack says.  “Give it some time, he’ll turn up.”

“He’d better,” she says, staring back at Mack with her ‘or else’ face.

It’s Coulson, Simmons tells herself. She always suspected.  It’s Coulson and May and they’re having a row and now it’s all played out in this joke they started.

May, always the prankster.

Of course.

“Of course I know who it is,” Simmons tells Mack with a bit of cheek.

 

Day 11.

“Hmph.”

“Hmph what?” Simmons asks, as Daisy reads the note taped to the wall again.

 

> My Darling:
> 
> I will accept your eleven pipers piping and reply in turn.  It’s very noisy around here right now, but I know you’re doing your best to get through to me.  More than anything, I would like to sit down to the sound of your voice and nothing else.
> 
> Your Dearest

“Oh, nothing,” Daisy says, and waves her hand like she’s waving the thought away.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Simmons asks.

“I’ve already had a couple of lattes, I probably shouldn’t.”

“Since when has that ever stopped you?”

Simmons turns to see Coulson looking at her with his eyebrows raised and a smug expression on his face as Daisy hands him an empty mug.

“Planning on hanging around?” Daisy asks him, crossing her arms.

“Yes,” he answers quietly.  “Getting used to breaking the rules.”

“What’s the point of having rules if you’re going to break them?” Simmons asks, feeling stuck in the middle of their conversation.

Well, she is _literally_ standing in the middle of their conversation.

“They’re just mine,” he says, as Daisy pours him some coffee. “It’s okay if I break them.”

 

Day 12.

 

> My Dearest:
> 
> I didn’t know what to do with twelve drummers drumming, but as it makes me think of the way my heart beats when I’m with you, I can get used to it.  We’ll find a place for them.  This is a big base, after all.
> 
> Still yours,
> 
> Darling

She sighs.  Happy ending after all.  And it’s Christmas.

Very satisfying.

Fitz turns the corner with a disturbed look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asks him, as he goes to get a cup of coffee, touches the Grumpy Cat mug, pulls his hand back.

“I just saw-“

He stops, like he can’t finish it.

“Saw what?” Simmons asks, as he puts his hand to his forehead and rubs like he has a headache.

“I saw Daisy snogging Coulson in the hall,” he finally gets it out, turning his body around like he’s checking to see if he’s being watched.

“ _No_ ,” she gasps, shoving at his shoulder. “Stop teasing.”

“Go see for yourself,” he groans, jerking a mug loose and pouring some coffee into it.

She just stares at him.

“Go.”

Rolling her eyes she marches towards the entrance to the hall and then ducks her head around the corner.

There’s no one there.

“Fitz,” she says, turning back towards him, but he’s gone.  Is this some prank?

“Jemma?”

She jumps out of her skin and turns to see Daisy and Coulson looking at her with concerned faces.

“ _Don’t do that_ ,” she breathes out, looking them over.  “Sneaking around.”

“We weren’t sneaking,” Coulson says defensively.  “Mostly.”

“C’mon, Grumpy Cat,” Daisy says. “You still need your morning coffee.”

Simmons gives him a small smile, and watches Daisy pull him along by the hand.

She sees their fingers locked together as Mack’s chuckle rumbles behind her as he comes in with an empty coffee cup.

“Of course you knew,” Mack says, flashing a grin. “Never had any doubts.”

Simmons huffs and then looks over at Coulson pouring Daisy a coffee, both with smiles on their faces.

She hasn’t seen either of them smile like that in a long time, suddenly feeling a bit like a fairy godmother with her hot cocoa and Christmas Carols and keeping their notes going.  All twelve days.

“I’m practically Father Christmas,” she smiles to herself.


End file.
